


Dimming Stars

by glimmerglanger



Series: Shine [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drugs Made From People, M/M, Magical Force Drug Use, Mentions of Violence, Pre-Relationship, Sequel, Whumptober 2020, Withdrawal, Yearning and Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Gujal didn't put up much of a fight, in the end, and he died better than he deserved, for what he'd done. It was more important to end him quickly, anyway, to cut Obi-Wan down, to gather him up. Anakin shrugged off the restrictive suit jacket he’d been forced to wear for the mission and wrapped it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, after he’d sagged down to the floor, still unconscious.OR, a sequel to "Shine," written for last year's whumptober/bad things happen bingo combo. Please mind the warnings!
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Shine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979393
Comments: 19
Kudos: 144





	Dimming Stars

**Author's Note:**

> So, last year around this time I wrote "[Shine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848457)," wherein Anakin ends up taking a magical Force drug in the process of rescuing Obi-Wan. I always wanted to write a follow-up. And I saw the "withdrawal" prompt for THIS year's Whumptober.... And here we are! 
> 
> This probably doesn't make complete sense without reading "Shine," but, then again, I think I covered most of the major bases. Please note that it's PRE-relationship, as in: Anakin is pining and yearning and has not yet realized this is all going somewhere. It does not qualify as gen because he's feeling some kind of way about Obi-Wan through the entire fic. Also he's feeling very guilty.
> 
> Really recommend reading all the way through before leaving kudos, probably makes everyone happier in the long-run.

Gujal didn't put up much of a fight, in the end, and he died better than he deserved, for what he'd done. It was more important to end him quickly, anyway, to cut Obi-Wan down, to gather him up. Anakin shrugged off the restrictive suit jacket he’d been forced to wear for the mission and wrapped it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, after he’d sagged down to the floor, still unconscious.

His skin shone with light, some kind of after-effect of the Shine, Anakin presumed. Little glimmers rose off of him constantly. Putting him under the jacket dimmed the room, somehow. Anakin swallowed, hard, listening for alarms blaring through the ship and not noticing any.

It gave him a moment to reach for the port set in Obi-Wan’s throat. His first instinct, before anything else, was to pull it out, get it out of Obi-Wan. Shine, they said, was made from Force users. He didn’t know, exactly,  _ how  _ they were making it from Obi-Wan, what they’d taken from him to create the sparkling, glowing substance, but…

It couldn’t be anything good.

Anakin tugged at the port, testing, and Obi-Wan flinched, even unconscious. Anakin went still, swearing softly to himself. His head felt full of buzzing sensation, but even through that, he knew that ripping something out of Obi-Wan’s neck was probably not the best idea. He left the port, shivering when he realized that there were smears of light on his fingers when he removed them.

Shine. Leftovers. And even a drop tasted better than anything he’d ever felt. 

Anakin shuddered and smeared his fingers across his thigh. He’d come here to get Obi-Wan out - to rescue the other Force-sensitives. And that could be best accomplished by activating the communicator he'd tucked away and calling Rex for help. Anakin worked, while he waited for his men to appear, disabling security precautions from the computer console, opening the way for them.

Rex looked across at Gujal, when he stepped into the little room. The man was slumped down in a corner, in a crumpled little pile. Anakin watched Rex process the sight, watched him cut a glance over, near immediately, to where Anakin stood, Obi-Wan held carefully against his chest, still unconscious.

“Sir,” Rex said, hesitating there in the doorway, a question in his expression.

“Let's get the rest out,” Anakin said, tone careful and tight. “You brought the medics?”

#

In the end, they carried a dozen Force-sensitives out, all of them dazed, kept placid by some foul drugs, so they could be used, processed, sold--

Anakin shoved down the anger rising in his chest as he spoke with the legal representative of the base. She kept looking away from him, down at the unconscious forms that filled up the station’s meagre medical bay. “I can’t believe you managed it,” she said, when he finished his explanation, and he had no idea how to reply to that.

Of course he’d managed it. The alternative was unthinkable. She shook her head, after a long moment, and asked, “Gujal?”

“Dead,” Anakin said, remembering the man’s expression, the way he’d promised information, money, Obi-Wan for free--

And he closed his fist, exhaling hard, shoving aside the anger inside of him before it could rattle anything in the ship. “You’ll find him on his ship,” he said. “Captain Rex will answer any other questions you have.” And then he went to see Obi-Wan in the  _ Peacemaker’s  _ medical bay. He hadn’t been willing to leave Obi-Wan in the care of the unknown medics on the station.

It was... Strange. The world glowed a bit, all around him. Light shimmered here and there, aftereffects, he guessed, from the drug. He ignored it, as best he could, walking through the station, traveling back to his ship, but it was difficult to set it aside completely. 

Obi-Wan put off most of it, Anakin noticed, when he reached the medical bay. He was lit from inside with a golden glow that hadn’t faded, by the time Anakin found him. He was covered with blankets, still unconscious, a fresh bandage over his throat.

“You got it out?” Anakin asked, looking over at Kix, relief and a single sour note of loss - the Shine had been….like nothing he’d ever felt - mingling in his chest. Relief won, even as motes of light hung over Obi-Wan, making him look like some strange, ethereal thing.

Kix grimaced, crossing his arms as he came to a stop beside the bed. “Not quite,” he said. “We removed the outer port, kept it to study. But.” He handed over a pad that Anakin barely glanced at. His head was buzzing too much to read medical jargon. “But there’s...a larger piece of it. Inside him. Hooked up to - well, too many nerves.”

Anakin blinked over at him, gut getting tighter as he said, “It’s not out of him?”

“Not yet,” Kix said, with a heavy sigh. “Honestly, sir, I recommend getting him back to Coruscant for more surgery. I maybe  _ could  _ get it out, but whether he’d be able to walk again when I was done…” He shrugged, and Anakin shuddered.

“That’s fine,” he said, scrubbing a hand back over his head. “Good job.”

Kix nodded as Anakin turned away; he needed to make a report to the Council, let them know the mission had been successful. Needed to arrange time to get Obi-Wan back to Coruscant. Needed-- “Sir,” Kix said, snagging his attention. Anakin turned back, a questioning sound in his throat, and found Kix looking concerned. “Don’t you need….?” He gestured at Anakin’s stomach and chest.

It took Anakin a beat to realize what he was talking about. Blood had soaked into his shirt, plastering it to his skin. “Oh,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not mine.” And he left, taking the grim, satisfied expression in Kix’s eyes with him while he left.

#

Obi-Wan was still glowing, faintly, the next day, when he showed up on the bridge of the  _ Peacemaker _ . Anakin jerked as he stepped through the door, straightening, looking him over. He seemed...much more himself, wearing his robes - Anakin had long ago taken to carrying a spare set around - and with his hair combed, even if the absence of his beard was still jarring.

Anakin frowned over at him, ignoring the headache that was pounding at his temples, a sharp stab of agony with each beat of his pulse. “Are you supposed to be up?” he asked, and Obi-Wan flashed him a smile, waving a hand.

“Kix gave me a clean bill of health,” Obi-Wan said, stepping forward to stand beside him, and his glow drifted out, almost brushing Anakin’s arm, and-- “I hear I have you to thank for that?”

Anakin thought about Gujal’s face, staring across at him from the other end of a lightsaber, thought about Obi-Wan hanging there, thought about the taste of the Shine, sweet and brilliant on his tongue, surging through his veins and the Force, thought about the way it had felt to press far too close to Obi-Wan, snagging wants he’d refused to indulge in for so long, and-- He blinked, turned aside, and said, “Someone has to get you out of the trouble you get yourself into.”

Obi-Wan snorted, and Anakin knew, then, that he really didn’t remember any of it, didn’t remember Anakin bending his head, or gripping at him, pressing close, undone by want and need--

He swallowed and decided that, really, that was for the best.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what Anakin had done to him, what he’d stolen, and it hadn’t hurt him, not  _ really _ . Not in the long run. He was fine, Kix said so, so there was no reason, really, to - to bring it up, to bother him about what had happened.

Anakin looked over at him, his glowing skin and sparkling eyes, and decided that, truly, moving forward would be the best thing for everyone.

#

The light and thrumming energy in the Force didn't start to fade until the following day. Anakin woke up with the headache in his temples redoubled, so bad that for a moment he thought he wouldn’t be able to move, laying in his bunk, trying to breathe around it. Nausea throbbed through his gut with each pump of his heart.

He groaned, and regretted it, the sound  _ hurt _ , and breathed careful and shallow as he slowly shifted around. He managed to grab some of the pain meds he kept in his quarters - Kix had stopped arguing with him about that, years ago - and swallowed two dry, bending over and putting his head in his hands.

They made the nausea much worse but, conversely, they eased the edge off of the headache. He managed to open his eyes without feeling like daggers were stabbing in through them, anyway, and swallowed back the sour saliva in his mouth.

His head swam when he stood, the world wobbling around, but that passed after a moment. He scrubbed his face and made himself walk over to the fresher. He’d feel better after a shower. He always did.

He stood under the water - it was a water kind of morning - and let the heat bleed into his skin. 

He retched, unexpectedly, midway through the shower and stared down afterwards, feeling cold despite the heat of the shower. He needed to eat, he decided, knocking the water off and drying off, frowning at his left hand. It had trembled, just for a moment.

Anakin gritted his teeth, curling his fingers in, willing them towards steadiness. He gripped at the Force, and winced, flinching, when he received not a comforting wave of strength, but something that felt more like a sharp rebuttal, a stinging snap all along his nerves.

He left it, focusing on breathing steady and as deeply as possible. He could deal with discomfort and pain. He’d always been able to, and the war had made him much, much better at it. He gritted his jaw, pulled on his clothes, and went out to see to his duties.

And he went down to the medbay, after avoiding breakfast, to ask for something to help with the nausea. Kix frowned when he asked for a stronger painkiller, but handed over the medication, after a moment, asking if he was sure he hadn’t taken an injury in the fight.

“Nothing serious,” Anakin said, and hoped the meds kicked in, soon.

#

The pain meds failed to touch the agony in his head. It grew worse, settling at the back of his skull and pounding away, relentlessly. Anakin scowled through it, declining when Obi-Wan offered to spar with him.

He wouldn’t have done a very good job, not at that moment, with dark spots floating across his vision and the taste of vomit in his mouth. His pulse, he noted, from a distance, kept getting faster. His heart was racing the way it did after a flight in his fighter, after he took on a squadron of droids on his own and won.

But he didn’t feel the giddy buzz that came after such an accomplishment. His gut just ached and his head swam, the headache driving deeper and deeper into his skull. He gave up trying to keep his left hand steady, and decided, around midday, that he needed to go back to his quarters.

He failed to make it there, in the end. He fell, instead, against a wall while he was walking with Rex, who made a surprised, worried sound, and caught him. “I’m fine,” Anakin said, lying through his teeth, and Rex gave him an unimpressed, beleaguered look.

“You’re going to the medbay,” Rex said, gripping his arm and dragging him the first step forward. “Kriff, sir, you’re burning up.” Which was a strange comment to make, Anakin thought. He felt very, very cold by the time Rex deposited him into Kix’s tender care.

Anakin really meant to protest, but the headache had taken up most of the space in the galaxy, and so he ended up laying on the medical bed, submitting to whichever tests Kix deemed necessary. He couldn't quite follow all that was said, shivering in his skin, but that was alright. Obi-Wan came in to listen while Anakin tried to keep his head from flying apart.

Obi-Wan could tell him whatever was happening, later. He’d figure out what to do. 

Anakin contented himself with that knowledge and shut his eyes, just for a while. 

"You didn't tell me," Obi-Wan said, eventually, stirring Anakin out of the daze he’d fallen into. He wasn’t really asleep, just… drifting. Anakin cracked his eyes open - it hurt, the stab of light into his vision - and found Obi-Wan standing by his bed, looking to the side, frowning. The medical staff and the droids were nowhere to be seen. They had, Anakin realized, groggily, put him in a private room. 

“Didn’t tell you what?” Anakin managed to rasp. He wondered if they’d turn the heat up, if he asked, if they’d give him something stronger for his head. The pain was creeping down his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae.

Obi-Wan shifted, muscle jumping in his jaw, just once. When he spoke, his voice was slow and careful, "That you took some of the Shine."

Anakin froze, breath catching as he stared across at Obi-Wan, thick regret curling up in his chest, making a home right beside the shame and the still-lingering memory of what he’d tasted like-- "I had to," Anakin said, quietly, because he had, there'd been no better option, no choice but to - to take what he shouldn't, light and warmth and sweet--

Obi-Wan sighed, reached out, and touched Anakin's shoulder. "It's incredibly addictive," he said, chiding.

Anakin nodded; he hadn’t been thinking about that at the time. It hadn’t been a consideration he’d bothered with, when getting Obi-Wan the kriff out of there had been of primary importance. He tried to find half the words to say that and they dissolved when Obi-Wan shifted and shrugged out of his outer tunic.

And, oh, they'd kept the port to study it, Anakin recalled, with a terrible lurch in his gut. Kix had kept it. And then he’d put it back in Obi-Wan’s skin. It was snugged right against his throat, full of glowing liquid.

“We had to figure out how to manually calibrate the device,” Obi-Wan was saying, voice impossibly calm as he folded up his tunic and set it aside. He was staring somewhere over at the far wall, though. “But Kix thinks it’s working properly, and--”

“No,” Anakin rasped, shaking his head, because - because he’d taken something he shouldn’t have, and he knew it, and it didn’t, really, matter how good it had felt to have it. He shoved at the memories of sparkling warmth and light and pleasure, all curled together with Obi-Wan’s hair tangled around his fingers, his skin warm and soft and good and, oh, but Anakin had wanted to press him against a wall for  _ so long _ \--

"Don't worry," Obi-Wan said, infuriatingly calm, "Getting you back to normal sounds simple enough. Kix says you need a large dose this time, to stabilize your vitals, and then medics have set up a schedule to wean you--"

"No," Anakin repeated, gathering the energy to sit, shaking his head, even as terrible want and pain flooded his head and his gut. Moving so much had been a mistake, his head informed him, the pain driving down, looking for the core of him. "No, I'm not--"

"Anakin--"

"I'll sweat it out," Anakin growled, making to stand, he needed to get...somewhere else. Somewhere away from Obi-Wan. His quarters would do. Or maybe his fighter. He could fly off, get some space, come back when he felt better, and--

"We don't have time for that." Obi-Wan caught his arm, grip sure and steady. "We're needed on the front, Anakin. And there's…” His grip tightened, just a little, his tone getting quieter, softer. “And the risks to you are far too high. Let me help."

Anakin shuddered. He wanted, was the problem. No, he needed. But, it was... A horrific thing to need, the taste of Obi-Wan, the warmth of him, his brilliant, perfect presence in the Force. Anakin turned his face away, gritting out, "No, it's - it hurts you. Doing this. Gujal hurt you."  _ I hurt you _ , he did not say. He wondered if Obi-Wan had figured out who the Shine he’d taken had come from. He couldn’t make himself say the words, admit that part of what he’d done.

He felt Obi-Wan tense, and glanced over, helplessly, watching an expression cross Obi-Wan’s face that made him ill. Obi-Wan buried it quickly, shoving it down somewhere, but Anakin saw the shadows in his eyes; they’d been dark and deep, just for a moment.

Obi-Wan blinked them away and said, "I'll live." He looked unconcerned, smiling as though to reassure. "Whereas you...might not. Kix thinks your abilities in the Force strengthened its effect on you. You’re… We need to do this. It's alright, Anakin."

And Force but it was getting increasingly difficult to remember why he was fighting, especially with the pain in his head. They could make it go away. He could make everything so much better. He shivered, hand reaching up without intention to brush Obi-Wan's throat, and flinched back.

Obi-Wan reached up and caught his hand, blue eyes infinitely steady as he put Anakin’s hand back. “I don’t know how to do this,” Obi-Wan said, quiet, “I don’t remember, much, about the specifics, but…” He swallowed, hard. “You do, so, just…”

“I can’t,” Anakin gasped out, wanting the words to be true, wanting to be able to say  _ I won’t _ and feeling himself losing that battle with every single second. His thumb brushed the glowing port, and Obi-Wan made a little hiss of sound.

“You must,” Obi-Wan said, expression settling more with determination as he pointedly lifted his chin, stepping closer, and, oh-- Oh. “Let me help you,” he said, and Anakin felt cold as a dead star inside his gut, that Obi-Wan would offer his help so freely, after--

He reached his other hand up, mouth sour and eyes stinging, and curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, tugging. Obi-Wan leaned closer, only stiffening a little, as he swayed fully into Anakin’s space. And Anakin could smell his skin, feel the sweet heat radiating off of him, gaze sliding across Obi-Wan’s jaw, down his throat, to the glowing port.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoarse, the words he hadn’t been able to say with Gujal in the room, before, the plea for forgiveness that would have blown his cover, that might have gotten the other Force-sensitives killed, or, worse, cost Obi-Wan his life.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, words strangling off as Anakin cupped the other side of his neck, his right hand, at least, ever steady. He gripped, holding Obi-Wan in place, and, with a last, shuddery exhale, closed his lips over the port and--

Light flooded into his head, sweet and perfect, warmth and the taste of Obi-Wan and a thousand sensations without names, chasing away the pain and the hurt inside his skin, replacing it with nothing but pure, unrefined pleasure and heat and the curl of the Force - he hadn’t felt the Force, not since he woke, reaching for it had hurt, had felt like putting pressure on a broken bone - into and through him.

Anakin groaned, swallowing, unable to keep from sucking at the port, and Obi-Wan made a harsh sound, shocked and ragged. Anakin blinked, head clear or more scrambled than ever, he wasn’t sure which, and found himself staring at smooth, pale skin, the port still caught between his lips.

He made himself release it - there was no more, anyway - and breathed, raggedly, into the warm space where he’d found himself, the world gradually falling into place all around him. He was...sprawled out, he realized, after a beat, no longer sitting up.

Obi-Wan was sprawled under him, back pressed to the medical bed, Anakin stretched over him, pressing terribly close all down his body, a leg pushed between Obi-Wan’s thigh, his hips shoved against Obi-Wan’s leg and he’d wanted this, too, so often and so much and--

Anakin jerked, all at once, pushing himself up and away, fully off the bed, even as the room swam and bobbed around. Everything was sharp, perfect colors, crisper than he’d ever seen, limed with light. Obi-Wan shifted on the medical bed, sparkles of light drifting around him, his eyes turned to sapphires, rumpled, his hair a mess from Anakin’s fingers and--

Anakin turned aside, the back of his wrist pressed against his mouth, and said, “Force, I’m so sorry.”

He ignored it when Obi-Wan called his name, stumbling out through the door, his steps getting steadier as he went, ignoring the questions shot his way by the medics. He felt so much better and so much worse, all at the same time, tasting Obi-Wan in his mouth and feeling the warmth of Obi-Wan spreading out through each inch of his being.


End file.
